This piece became something different than what it started out to be.
6/21/10
I live my childhood outside in the hot dry summers of West Texas. Our houses are built far enough apart that we had small trees and bushes between us and our neighbor to the left. There is a sidewalk and the air conditioner between us and our neighbor to the right. We have a big maple tree in the front yard.
My first order of business after breakfast and making my bed is to go outside and climb the tree. I check on the entire neighborhood from the middle of that tree. Old Jim is staggering up his front steps again. He sees me and waves. Dad calls him a drunk, whatever that means. He gives me shiny silver half dollars, so he can’t be all bad.
It’s still early enough to jump rope without dying of heat stroke. I jump and jump and jump. Wow! I’m thirsty.
“Hey mom”, I yell through the screen door. “Can I turn on the hose?”
“ What for?” It is important for her to check out my motivations. She has to keep up with me. I am always in the middle of something.
“I’m thirsty”. Water always tastes better with the aftertaste of rubber tubing.
“Sure, but do not get yourself wet”.
“Okay”.
“Hey mom”, I yell through the screen door. “I’m gonna ride my bike”.
“Alright, but do not go in the street and DO NOT go past the end of the sidewalk”.
“I know.” But how is she gonna know if I go past the end of the sidewalk? Our sidewalk ends before the block ends and the three houses that beyond that boundary are dirty and shabby and creepy—even in the bright light of day.
I climb on my speed machine and take off like a bat out of Hell. I race as fast as my knobby kneed legs can peddle, right up to where the sidewalk ends. I look back at my house and move my front tire over the edge. It’s cool to test the limits when you’re seven. Someday, I’ll be brave enough to ride to the end of the block, past my mother’s warning, past the creepy houses with no sidewalk. Now is not the time to jump in the middle of that pool.
My entire life my mom encouraged me to get in the middle of any action I wanted to be part of—as long as it was safe and socially acceptable. My mom encouraged me to become a great basketball player—I didn’t know that’s what she was doing by forcing me to read books about the sport. She encouraged me to try out for the JV cheerleading squad in 7th grade, even though I had the worst haircut of my life. She encouraged me to run with my love of the stage and to act, act, act. Get out there, take risks, live life. I grew up that way.
It is 7th grade and I want a new look. My mom gives me some money and my dad drops me off at the Supercuts for my new do. They drive off to the grocery store, while I tell Sweeney Todd that I want my hair to look like Dorothy Hamill’s. Instead of telling me that she does not know who that is, she nods and sets about cutting my hair. When she finishes, my hair is only an inch from my scalp. My own father drives past me on the sidewalk because he does not recognize me. I AM 12! I can’t go to school looking like this. Sweeney should have just chopped off my head. Looks are important.
The next week, cheerleading tryouts are advertised and I am so excited about giving this activity a shot. The problem is that I do not look like a cheerleader. I looked like a little boy. My mom pushes me to go for it regardless of what I looked like. She knows how much I want to be a cheerleader. After tryouts, that same night, I will deliver a speech to the local Rotary Club on Optimism at their annual Optimism Speech Competition. Mrs. Turner, my speech and debate teacher, feels that this is a wonderful opportunity for me to show off my public speaking skills. My mom nudges me to jump in the middle of this chance. I jump and yell and dance my heart out. I jump in the shower, change into a Sunday dress, and “curl my hair”. I stand up, speak about Optimism, and accept my trophy.
That night, I learned looks can be overlooked when you rock. I made the cheerleading team, as the captain. I won second place at the speech competition, with the opportunity to compete at the district level. I was in the middle.
I woke up on May 22, 2007. I was 34 and filled with uncertainty. I could not see where my future was going, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Life could only get better from this day forward. I was headed to divorce court for the inevitable to become final. I would be a single mom in a couple of hours. Scary, but necessary.
My lawyer, Joe, was worried that I would not get a final judgment because Ross walked away from his job. He abandoned it; walked away. Just like us. He was good at walking away physically and figuratively. Whatever!! I was ready to throw myself on the mercy of the court to be rid of that man.
I show up at the Cobb County Court building in Marietta at 8:30 that morning. As I approach the witness stand, my lawyer explains to the sturdy old judge that my husband had voluntarily vacated his $42,000-a-year job two weeks ago. That could change the paper child support agreement. The judge looks at me with his big glassy owl eyes and asks, “He vacated his job?”
“Yes, sir”, I respond. The judge clearly is born and raised right here. His voice sounds like honey sweet tea.
“He wasn’t laid off or fired?”
“No sir.”
“He just walked away? Is he here in court today?”
“No, sir, he’s not here.”
“He just walked away. Do you want to be divorced from him today even if you don’t get child support from him?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good answer, sweetheart. Is he capable of working a job that is equivalent to the one he walked away from?” he asks shaking his head in disbelief. Or is it disgust?
“Yes, he is.”
“Good. We’ll hold him to the current child support agreement. I’m happy to grant you a divorce, sweetheart. Good luck.” Why does everyone call me sweetheart? This judge, who doesn’t know if I am sweet or not, has just released me from the sidelines of life with the golden opportunity to get back to the middle.
I thank the judge and leave the courtroom without tears. The proverbial weight is gone. I’d lost my first 165 lbs. I drive to the movie theater. There’s no better place to get lost for a few hours than a movie theater in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week.
300 had been in theaters for a few weeks and I’d been dying to see it. Frank Miller is a cinematic genius. I bought my ticket and bypassed the snack bar. I’d lost 165 lbs, why not loose some more? As I entered the semi-dark theater I chose my favorite seat–the middle seat in the middle row.
The house lights went down and the projector lights came up. A few other afternoon moviegoers joined me. One poor unfortunate man sat in the seat in front of me. Neither he, nor I, knew what the near future was holding in the middle of its hands.
The opening scene of the movie is when it happened. I didn’t know it or understand it, but I was in love. As Xerxes’ messenger dismissed Gorga as an unworthy human, Leonidas deferred to her. She was in the middle of this conversation between men and the King of Sparta was listening to her. As the movie continued, Leonidas continued the life that a Spartan warrior is expected to live, but he treated his wife with more respect than was socially acceptable. This woman had what I wanted. The respect that had been denied me for the past 14 years.
Leonidas was played by Gerard Butler and I was fascinated by him. I began to read about him, watch interviews with him, view his movies. I gathered posters with his face. I found that I had been watching him on film for years and didn’t know it. I’m obsessed with his crooked mouth and his chubby cheeks. His Scottish accent is so twirly it curls around my mind and makes me shiver with excitement. Creepy, huh?
Really what I’m obsessed with is his portrayal of the man I’m looking to love. Where is this man? This man who knows how to respect his love when no one else will. This man who is nerdy, intelligent, sexy, and tough. This man who is able to laugh at himself and the things that happen to him. This man who can knock me out with a suspender clip while entertaining me with a striptease like the character in P.S. I Love You. I don’t know where to look for this man. But there I was, sitting in the middle of this dark theater watching this beautiful man realizing that I had moved to the sidelines of my life. I was no longer in the middle. What happened? How did I get here?
I’m still haven’t found my Gerard Butler, but I’m reengaging in life. So whoever and whereever he is, he’ll have to find me in the middle.
6/15/10
I woke up on May 22, 2007 filled with uncertainty. I could not see where my future was going, but that’s not really a bad thing. Life could only get better from this day forward. I was headed to divorce court for the inevitable to become final. I would be a single mom in a couple of hours. Scary, but necessary.
My lawyer, Joe, was worried that I would not get a final judgment because Ross walked away from his job.He abandoned it; walked away. Just like us. He was good at walking away physically and figuratively. Whatever!! I was ready to throw myself on the mercy of the court to be rid of that man.
I showed up at the Cobb County Court building in Marietta at 8:30 that morning. As I approached the witness stand, my lawyer explained to the sturdy old judge that my husband had voluntarily vacated his $42,000-a-year job two weeks ago. That could change our paper child support agreement. The judge looked at me with his big glassy owl eyes and asked, “He vacated his job?”.
“Yes, sir”, I responded. The judge clearly was born and raised right here. His voice sounded like honey sweet tea.
“He wasn’t laid off or fired?”
“No, sir.”
“He just walked away? Is he here in court today?”
“No, sir, he’s not here.”
“He just walked away. Do you want to be divorced from him today even if you don’t get child support from him?”
“Yes, please.”
“Good answer, sweetheart. Is he capable of working a job that is equivalent to the one he walked away from?” he said shaking his head in disbelief or was it disgust?
“Yes, he is.”
“Good. We’ll hold him to the current child support agreement. I’m happy to grant you a divorce, sweetheart. Good luck.” Why does everyone call me sweetheart?
I thanked the judge and left the courtroom without tears. The proverbial weight was gone. I’d lost my first 165 lbs. I drove to the movie theater. There’s no better place to get lost for a few hours than a movie theater in the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the week.
300 had been in theaters for a few weeks and I’d been dying to see it. Frank Miller is a cinematic genius. I bought my ticket and bypassed the snack bar. I’d lost 165 lbs, why not loose some more? As I entered the semi-dark theater I chose my favorite seat–the middle seat in the middle row.
The house lights went down and the projector lights came up. A few other afternoon moviegoers joined me. One poor unfortunate man sat in the seat in front of me. Neither he, nor I, knew what the near future was holding in the middle of its hands.
